Saturday, December 22

Aspen Chill Mountain Freeze Two Legs Moving Look At These


Greetings from Aspen! Or, more accurately, greetings from my Lululemon legging-clad, sore-ass body. I've got ski pants, I've got gluteal numbness and I've got enough people praying for my success because today, after four hours on "the slopes" gliding past children, I've finally done it: I've gone skiing.

Having never been in a pair of ski boots, around a family wearing long underwear or in the vicinity of snow-capped mountains, this week-long adventure's started off with an elevated level of fear mixed with an increased level of complaining that apparently only I anticipated. I honestly assumed I'd twist my ankle within the first five minutes, be hauled off to the house and spend the rest of the weekend sucking on the stick end of candy canes 'til i fell asleep and got one accidentally stuck in my unwashed hair, but I actually conquered a mountain today. I skied down it multiple times, learned that pizza-frenchfry isn't just the limited cafeteria menu, and didn't fall once, which gives me two major things to be proud of. (The second? Wearing contacts for seven hours without having them roll back behind my eyelid and fusing permanently to my insides.)

In other Colorado Daily News, though: it seems that altitude sickness, unlike the Bermuda Triangle and Loch Ness Monster is actually a real thing, as noted from the fact that I'm in a sofa chair and can't figure out how to stop feeling like I'm plopped in the middle of a rocky canoe. I've been breathlessly dragging my worn-out self up and down two flights of stairs with a soundtrack of never-ending groaning, but given that I've been sneaking bits of gouda and cookies and cheesecake like a well-dressed mouse, that obese feelin' probably won't end anytime soon.

Oh — if I don't make it back here by the big Santafiesta, happy holidays, homies! Eat enough socks filled with candy to give you tummyaches, return everything you hate, and go for a second round of ham. I encourage it. And of course, if you have any of those peanut butter cookies with Hershey Kisses in 'em left over, send them my way to Carlye Wisel, Excellent Skiier, Aspen, Colorado USA. It'll get to me, Christmas-miracle style.



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